Mei Xiu glanced at him. A silver candelabra like a trident stood between them, its three white candles burning quietly—the flames blue at the wick, then warm yellow outward. One emerald eye was shadowed by the fire, as if a blaze burned within.
He suddenly laughed, shoulders shaking. An Luo watched curiously as Mei Xiu stopped and said meaningfully, “Forgive me—I just realized you’re more delicate and pampered than the princess herself.”
An Luo: “…”
Under someone else’s roof, he bowed his head. No point arguing.
Mei Xiu casually wheeled the cart out the door and left it, then returned to An Luo’s side. “Since you’re staying the night, may I send someone to your residence for clothes?”
“Thanks,” An Luo said. “My clothes are in the wardrobe by the bed.”
“Oh, and pass a message to Mrs. Brown while you’re at it.” Post-dinner dizziness hit again. “So they don’t worry.”
With his back to An Luo, Mei Xiu flashed a strange smile, his voice light and thin, like paper ready to tear: “You’re quite caring toward them.”
An Luo hummed. “I’ve lived there a long time. Mrs. Brown looks after me well.”
“Is that so? Then I really must thank them properly.”
Mei Xiu’s lips trembled as he murmured it so low only he could barely hear.
He stepped out, the door closing behind him. The long corridor stretched ahead, thick doors and walls muffling sound. An Luo could hear no more, so Mei Xiu repeated softly to himself: “Then I really must thank them properly.”
Mei Xiu grabbed a set of black butler attire and smeared his face, blurring his distinctive features. He boarded a carriage, rain pattering on the roof.
He knocked on the door of the unassuming white two-story house by the road. It opened immediately, and Mrs. Brown said, “Come in quick, dear, with this downpour, you need to—”
The old woman stopped mid-sentence when she realized that the person standing at the door was not An Luo, but a man dressed in fine black attire. She immediately fell silent.
Mei Xiu was not a drop wet from head to toe, not even the soles of his shoes. He lowered the umbrella he had been holding for show, and rainwater streamed haphazardly down its surface. “Good day. Are you Mrs. Brown?”
Mrs. Brown was a bit nervous. “Yes, I am. May I ask what this is about?”
“Mr. An Luo has fallen ill, and the rain is too heavy. If we brought him back now, we’re worried he might catch a chill on the way and worsen his condition. So he’s temporarily staying at my master’s manor to recuperate.”
Mrs. Brown’s heart, which had just begun to relax, tightened again. “Is he alright? Is it serious?”
“I cannot say.” The black-clad man’s voice sounded polite enough, but there was no warmth in his tone—it was utterly cold and rigid. “I am the manor steward, here to fetch some of Mr. An Luo’s clothes for him to change into.”
“Oh, of course, of course.”
Mrs. Brown was an ordinary commoner, and she felt ill at ease in the presence of a great noble’s steward. “An Luo lives on the second floor.”
“Thank you very much.”
The black-clad steward nodded and headed upstairs.
It was a modest little house, quite old despite its owner’s careful maintenance, and it still had its share of minor creaks and flaws. His leather shoes thudded on the wooden stairs with a creaking squeak. There was no door between the stairs and the second-floor hall. Mei Xiu stood in the center of the cramped hall and looked around. The low ceiling pressed straight down, the floor was covered with a rug, and a long table opposite the fireplace was stacked with several books.
The doors to the two rooms upstairs were both closed but unlocked. Mei Xiu first pushed open the door to the study. The bookshelves were packed full, and stacks of books piled the floor. A large desk faced the window, covered in thick stacks of manuscript paper, a box of quill pens, and a sealed jar of ink.
What a typical author’s study.
Mei Xiu thought to himself, and the air in the room seemed somehow off. He pictured An Luo sitting at the desk, pen in hand, writing line after line of his new book—and rage nearly drove him mad.
Previously, Mei Xiu had never considered that An Luo might write a new book. An Luo had never hinted at any intention to write here either. Meieruita had naturally assumed he was An Luo’s one and only protagonist. But when he changed his name and slipped into Kulte City under the radar, only to see An Luo’s works displayed in the bookstore, his first reaction wasn’t anger—it was bewilderment.
A few people outside the bookstore were whispering about the plot, their words drifting into his ears, so familiar it was unnerving. He halted, entered the shop, and flipped open a book signed “Lor.” The storyline and phrasing were eerily familiar.
Mei Xiu mechanically, stiffly flipped through the book from start to finish. Then he saw more books in the store signed “Lor,” each one like a heavy brick crashing down on his head, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.
He bought every book by “Lor” without a word, then read them in chronological order, cover to cover. He confirmed it, and then he laughed—he didn’t even know why. A tangle of emotions knotted in his chest, choking his breath.
The only thing keeping him from losing his mind was that the protagonists in these books all had partners, blissfully content together.
Mei Xiu burned every one of those books.
Flames from his palm devoured the thick volumes one by one. The pages burned easily, while the covers, due to their material and thickness, smoldered a bit slower—but they blackened too, glowing red. The protagonists’ names were consumed by the fire, but Mei Xiu preserved the “Lor” signatures, though their edges were jagged and scorched.
He pocketed those small signed cards. Everything else turned to ash.
Mei Xiu pulled open the drawers, searching for outlines and character bios. He found them quickly, in the deepest bottom drawer: stacks of neatly sorted manuscript paper. He pulled them out, the thick sheets rustling.
The ink had long dried, the paper faintly yellowed. Mei Xiu’s face tightened as he read An Luo’s casual notes in the margins: what to give the protagonist, what she would like, what life best fit her ideals, how to get there… His chest heaved beneath the black fabric, then stilled.
The flames compressed inward, maintaining a facade of calm—but this dormant volcano had suppressed too much. Once it erupted, the pent-up fire and magma would surge forth doubly fierce.
At the very bottom of the drawer lay the thickest stack of manuscripts—an unpublished work. The top blank page bore its title:
Sacred Emperor
Just the name alone set it utterly apart from the previous ones like Doris, Maryko, Daisy, and the like.
Supreme Wizard… Sacred Emperor
How alike they were.
A venomous hatred surged up, the short title like the gaping maw of an abyss, curving into a mocking grin aimed at the protagonist of Supreme Wizard, penned by the same author who now gazed upon it.
You thought you were the only one?
Mei Xiu turned the title page.
He flipped slowly, pausing every so often to catch his breath.
The ceiling seemed lower, the air thinner. The words on the manuscript were plain and accessible, yet harder to read than the densest witchcraft tomes.
Mei Xiu read line after line, watching the protagonist “Manfremondi” rise from ruin, exacting revenge—slaying his enemies and the king who enabled them—then claiming the throne. With thunderous might, he subdued the church and became pontiff, ultimately unifying the entire continent…
“Manfremondi”‘s sullen, pale face, his narrow sharp eyes, his black half-length hair… Mei Xiu painfully realized this was another “Meieruita.” They were so alike. What mindset had An Luo been in when writing “Manfremondi”?
Had he run a “contest” for his name too? Picked and chose just so?
What did those four words in “Manfremondi” signify?
“…Why… why would you do this to me?”
In that moment, the long-suppressed hatred roared back, vaster than before. He laughed uncontrollably, his hands shaking with the laughter, the manuscript rustling in his grip. The ceiling and floor spun, the world a whirling top. He could barely stand and collapsed into an armchair nearby.
Amid the trembling pages, he glimpsed the final one—An Luo’s personal note.
Mei Xiu froze like a gambler who knows he’ll be ruined yet bets it all anyway. He sat motionless, like an insect trapped in amber. But at last, he turned to it.
What would you say to your new favorite, this damned “Manfremondi”?
Faded black ink met his eyes:
[That original version wasn’t satisfying enough. Since it can’t be published anyway, might as well rewrite it entirely. This feels much better.]
[It got a bit out of hand while writing. This book’s protagonist is really just Meieruita with a new name. I kept messing up because I couldn’t control it—I was thinking of him the whole time, so Meieruita and Manfremondi got mixed up. Had to recopy it all at the end.]
[It’s been almost three months since I came here, and I’ve settled in somewhat. But I feel so lonely. I miss Meieruita so much. Probably won’t see him again in this lifetime.]
[Wonder how Meieruita is doing. Is he at the Wizard Academy already? I hope everything goes smoothly for him—though that’s to be expected. He’s so smart, so good, so exceptional—the best person I’ve ever met. I doubt anyone will surpass him.]
[Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t regret it. But Meieruita is too dangerous. I like him, but I’m scared of him too. What if I misjudged? I’d be dead. Take modern people who refuse marriage—not even involving death, just emotional and financial risks—and so many still opt for singlehood. Now imagine risking my life, and he’s a man, can’t even be with him that way. So, better not.]
[…So lonely. Miss him so much.]
Mei Xiu was stunned.
